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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145169">Raise the Stakes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo'>Mikimoo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Games [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Humor, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:15:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikimoo/pseuds/Mikimoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a (presumably daring) rescue, Dick cooks dinner and games are played.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dick Grayson/Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Games [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>JayDick Summer Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Raise the Stakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prickat/gifts">Prickat</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Prickat! I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Jason was burning, his whole body felt like he was resting above an open flame. It ached too, with the bone deep pain of sickness. He couldn’t remember what had come before, and he had no idea where he was. A frightening set of circumstances to wake up in. He cracked open one eye, the lid was heavy, and even that innocuous body part hurt.</p><p>His vision was blurry at first, but prominent features of the room quickly swam into view: His place, the safe house that had ended up as <em>home</em>. Well, that was good. Better than a back ally or a creepy dungeon at least. Although the <em>how</em> and the <em>why</em> were still questions that needed answering.</p><p>He tried to shift, to get a better look at his surroundings and discovered he was wrapped in... blankets? Swaddled like a baby and sprawled across his own sofa. What the hell had even happened? He scowled and attempted to detangle himself.</p><p>“Don’t you dare!” Dick’s obnoxious face was suddenly right in his field of vision. He was scowling, and it made his forehead wrinkle like an angry puppy. “You spent a good hour bobbing around in Gotham harbour,” Dick continued, heedless to the fact the sound of his voice was like a hammer to the head. “And you need to stay warm, idiot.”</p><p>“Quieter,” Jason croaked. His head hurt, and he was too fucking <em>hot. </em>But the words registered, despite his discomfort. The harbour? He paused in his attempt to extract an arm from its cocoon. He did have a fuzzy memory of that. “Why was I in the water?” he asked, a little blearily, and very quietly, so his head didn’t explode.</p><p>“You tell me,” Dick said, still loud, perhaps louder.</p><p>He was such a bastard, Jason could never understand why people thought he was so nice. He reopened his eye to attempt a glare.</p><p>Dick looked back at him, his hip cocked and an irritated expression on his pretty, annoying face. “I just arrived for the fishing you out part,” he continued, relentlessly, “how you got there is still a mystery,” he paused, considering, “most of the dock was on fire, though, so I assume you had a good time before landing in the drink.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jason offered, helpfully. He mostly just remembered the cold and the dark. There had been a storm? Perhaps ending up in the water during a storm had been a bad idea.</p><p>“So stay there and warm up, or I <em>will</em> make you!” Dick wagged a finger at him, the cuff of his to-big shirt flopping around his wrist. Jason realised it was <em>his</em> shirt. Was it too much of a cliche to find that incredibly hot? Even in his befuddled state he could apparently appreciate it, and Dick was wearing a pair of Jason's sweats too. God. His bones and head hurt too much for this.</p><p>Confused, and vaguely turned on, Jason did what he was told, and his eyes slipped closed.</p><p> </p><p>Later, he woke again, to the sound Dick’s tuneless humming. He hurt less, he still felt too hot, but no longer like his body was burning. He risked opening his eyes and was relieved that his headache only felt like he had been punched in the face, and not like he had been clobbered with a crowbar.</p><p>“Morning sunshine,” Dick said, despite the fact it was clearly night.</p><p>Jasons stomach rumbled and he realised the room smelt amazing. “What are you doing?” he croaked. Although he sounded like had swallowed a frog, he felt much better than the first time he had awoken.</p><p>“Cooking you a warming stew, you ungrateful ingrate,” Dick told him.</p><p>“It smells good,” Jason said, suspiciously.</p><p>Dick sniffed, indignant. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”</p><p>“I’ve eaten your experimental cooking before, Dickhead. Your sense of taste is as warped as your sense of fashion.”</p><p>“Alfred taught me this recipe,” Dick said, only somewhat reassuringly. “It’s a version of goulash, like the one my granny Anja used to make. Of course, she wasn't actually my granny, but she played the part well.” He smiled, perhaps at some memory of happier, less complicated times.</p><p>Jason pushed himself up. It really did smell amazing, and he was, he realised, hungry enough to eat pretty much anything. Then he saw his kitchen; it looked like a bomb had gone off releasing a mushroom cloud of spice and potato peal. Jesus.</p><p>He opened his mouth to complain, but really what was the point? Instead, he forced himself shakily out of his blankets and on onto his feet. He was relieved to see he was wearing his boxers. “Don’t burn the house down, I’m going to have a shower.”</p><p>“Yeah, good idea, I can smell you from here,” Dick said, turning back to his cooking.</p><p>Asshole. Jason stumbled his way to the bathroom, grabbing some sweats and a shirt on his way. He kept his shower warm, mindful of his body temperature. But he didn’t feel hyperthermic, and the water washed away much of his remaining headache. Dick had probably caught him just in time to prevent any real damage being done and had just been mother-henning him out of spite.</p><p>Feeling much better, and drawn back towards the inviting smells from the kitchen, Jason emerged from the bathroom, back into the open plan living space. Dick was still cooking, Jason gave him an instinctual once over, checking for injuries. He seemed fine, apart from the bare feet that were poking out from the hem of Jason’s borrowed sweats; it looked like there might be an angry burn over his toes. Was that from the fire at the docks? He moved a little closer, and realised the red marks were actually a dusting of spice – probably paprika. How could a man so organised, mission orientated and meticulous during work hours, simultaneously be such a creature of chaos in downtime?</p><p>“Sit!” Dick demanded, coming forward to push Jasons chest and shedding paprika over the floor like fine red dust.</p><p>Jason sat, resigned. “So, Alf helped you recreate granny's special goulash did he?” he asked, mostly to resist griping about the mess. And that did sound like something Alfred would do; try to add a little homeliness into the bleak manor, a bit of normal non-bat related attention for the lost boys (and girl) that had ended up living there. At least <em>someone</em> had – some days Bruce had looked up from his paper over breakfast, and seemed genuinely perplexed to find a child sitting at the table with him. Maybe it had been surprise at seeing a <em>different</em> child, the wrong child. Jason pushed the thought away. He was too hungry to work himself up into a Bruce related rage.</p><p>Dick stirred the large pot of stew on the stove and grinned. “Did he ever cook something special for you on a Sunday too?”</p><p>“Yeah, we had my childhood favourite of three day old pizza and mouldy bread,” Jason said, a little snidely, and also a little unfairly - Alfred had taught him to cook, after all, first the basics, then more complicated things that he wanted to try. Jason thought it had been Alfred’s way of giving him some power over something in which he’d had none in the past. He loved the old man more than he could ever express with words for the thoughtfulness of that gift.</p><p>Watching his face, Dick winced, and stirred a little harder. Jason mentally smacked himself, it had meant to be bit of snark, not trigger a pity party, damn it. “Tell me about granny Anja, who wasn’t your granny, and her magical goulash.” he said, to try to steer things to safer waters.</p><p>Dick’s smile returned as he reached up to grab some bowls. “She had been a performer in her youth, but when I knew her, she mostly ran the logistical side of things when we were on the road. People stepped lightly around her, she didn’t suffer fools.”</p><p>“And goulash was her signature dish?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess. She would cook a pot and invite folk to eat with her, before thrashing them at poker. It took ages for Alf and I to find a recipe that came close – the variations are pretty regional it seems. And hers was a mix of places she’d been.”</p><p>“Where was she from originally?” It was strange to talk about Dick’s family, without the undercurrent of discomfort and longing that usually accompanied it. He guessed it was more normal to loose a grandparent by their age, the pain less acute. It was not something that Jason had experienced, so he couldn’t be sure.</p><p>Or maybe Dick was just more relaxed around him. The thought made him feel warm, in a pleasant way.</p><p>“I think she was Serbian? Perhaps Russian? She certainly spoke Russian with a voice like she was gargling razorblades, but I don’t think it was her first language.” Dick put the bowls on the table with a clatter and went to grab the pot.</p><p>“Circus boy, you better not be thinking of putting that on my table without a coaster,” Jason said, giving him the stink eye as Dick spun around to put it down again, and went hunting for table mats.</p><p>Mats achieved, and the pot safely on the table, Dick ladled out hot, steaming stew and handed a bowl to Jason, before curling up in the armchair with his own.</p><p>Jason took a bite; the taste was rich, multilayered and earthy. “Richard John Grayson, I am officially impressed,” he said.</p><p>Dick beamed, like he’d just received benediction from the gods, and Jason felt himself flush a little. Stupid man, who smiled like that over such light praise?</p><p>They ate in silence for a while, both savouring the warmth from the food. Jason may have had seconds, and perhaps thirds, it really was that good. As usual Dick ate enough for three people, humming at his own creation with quiet pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>Satisfied, and still feeling the pleasant buzz of a good meal, Jason leaned back. “Beers in the fridge,” he hinted, not willing to move.</p><p>“You’re hyperthermic, Jay, you shouldn't drink.”</p><p>“I’m not, and it’s one beer, Wingding. I’m old enough to make whatever bad choices I want.”</p><p>Dick contemplated him for a moment, then shockingly, went to get them both a bottle. Score one for bad ideas.</p><p>“So granny was a card shark?” Jason asked, after taking a long pull on his beer.</p><p>“She sure was, she taught me all the important principals of poker too, like cold reading and counting cards.”</p><p>Jason snorted. “Weren't you like, seven?”</p><p>“You’re never too young to learn interesting life skills, also I was an annoying brat and it kept me still and quiet for ten minutes at a time.” Dick laughed lightly. “It was pointless though, because I’m still shit at it.”</p><p>Jason raised a brow.</p><p>“I mean, I understand it, and I'm an amazing liar, by necessity and experience, but when it comes to games, apparently I <em>emote</em> too much.”</p><p>“Emote?” Jason asked, amused.</p><p>Dick shrugged, a little self consciously. “I get super excited when I get a good hand and it shows, I guess.” he laughed again, “You have a look on your face like you can’t decide if you want to teach me or fleece me. You want a game? You can give me pointers.” he held up a finger, “<em>l</em><em>ow</em> stakes though, I’m not just handing you the opportunity to take me for a ride.”</p><p>“Sure,” Jason said, a little strangled. Had that double entendre been intentional or just an off the cuff comment?</p><p> </p><p>Amazingly, Dick had not been wrong about his abilities; he <em>could</em> count cards, and had a good understanding of the game mechanics, which had prevented complete annihilation, but two games in and Jason was in possession of the majority of the pile of debris they were using as chips. It was mostly small coins, but Dick kept cheating and adding to his pile with objects close to hand, including the pepper grinder and two forks. He was still losing though. His tell wasn’t so much anything he <em>did</em> with his hands or face; more that his eyes sort of lit up - it was like his entire being lifted slightly and <em>shone </em>when his hand was good or he thought he was going to do something clever. It was adorable.</p><p>Dick was a fairly gracious loser, but that was probably because his losses all amounted to small change and pocket lint. That was no way to play a proper game of poker.</p><p>“Want to up the ante a little?” Jason offered.</p><p>Dick sighed, very put upon. “You’re supposed to be helping me play better, not robbing me blind!”</p><p>Jason eyed his cards. Ace high; worth practicably nothing if Dick had something good, but as his opponent had not made the ridiculous Joy Face at his own hand, he figured he could go for a bluff.</p><p>“You’re never going to improve if you don’t have stakes worth improving <em>for,” </em>Jason pointed out, grinning a little as he took the last drink from his second bottle. “I win this round, and you don’t get to moan when I get my third beer,” he suggested.</p><p>Dick sighed again. “Fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Jason got his third beer.</p><p>“I regret everything,” Dick said, also accepting another bottle.</p><p> </p><p>“This time! This time I’m going to win!” Dick said, his voice slurring ever so slightly. He never could hold his liqueur. “Go on, up the stakes, Jay!”</p><p>There were a lot of possibilities, but Jason regretfully discarded most of them as being inappropriate. “Okay,” he said at last, “if I win, you have to cook another pot of granny’s goulash, so I can freeze it to eat in the week. And you have to clean my damn kitchen, so it’s spotless, so clean even Alfred would approve.”</p><p>Dick wrinkled his nose, but he nodded. “Okay, If <em>I </em>win, you cook me breakfast, lunch and dinner, do all the cleaning, <em>and</em> I get to sleep in your bed while you get the lumpy couch.”</p><p>“Deal,” Jason said.</p><p>Dick grinned, guilelessly.</p><p> </p><p>Jason lost.</p><p>Badly.</p><p><em>Embarrassingly</em>.</p><p>Worse, was the small smirk Dick was wearing as he lay down his cards, his eyes dancing with the Joy Look.</p><p>“You fucking <em>hustled</em> me?” Jason demanded, aghast.</p><p>Dick leaned back in his chair, stretching like a cat in Jason’s clothes. His smirk was wide, smug and full of evil glee. “I <em>told</em> you I was an amazing liar, Jay, not my fault you didn’t believe me.” He dissolved in to whooping, snorting laughter. “And like you said, it’s not worth it if the stakes aren’t high enough. So now you have to feed me for a whole day! <em>And</em> do do the washing up! And,” he pushed himself to his feet. “<em>And</em> I get to sleep in your bed.” He bent and kissed the tip of Jason’s nose before he got himself together enough to swat the asshole away.</p><p>Still laughing he headed for Jason's bedroom. The unbelievable fucker.</p><p>For the second time that evening, Jason was… impressed. “You, are a <em>bastard,</em>” he said, approvingly. Still embarrassed, but also unable to hold back a grin at the audacity.</p><p>Dick paused in the bedroom doorway, his smile warm and cheeky. “I suppose you could always share with me rather than take the sofa, seeing as you're sick and all.” There was an edge of playful challenge to his words.</p><p>Great, now he wanted to play chicken over bed sharing. Well, Chicken was not a game Jason had ever lost.</p><p>“Sure,” he said casually. Dick raised an eyebrow, surprised perhaps. The expression on his face was somewhere between contemplative and calculating.</p><p>Jason followed him into the bedroom, and watched as he unselfconsciously stripped off Jason’s borrowed shirt and dropped it on the floor. Jason eyed it, annoyed, but then Dick shot him another smirk and dropped his sweats, <em>slowly</em>, before he slipped into the bed and made a show of obnoxiously laying his claim by getting comfortable, limbs sprawled.</p><p>Not to be out done, Jason stepped out of his own clothes, putting them in the laundry hamper like any reasonable person would, and sliding into the bed.</p><p>They lay there for a moment, a slight tension in the air, both waiting for the next move. So Jason threw caution to the wind, and upped the stakes by reaching over to pull Dick closer. Two could play this game.</p><p>Dick stiffened in surprise, and then snuggled, up to him like an overgrown puppy, sighing in contentment.</p><p>It was...nice.</p><p>Jason could feel Dick’s breaths slowing, his muscles relaxing, he was hesitant to interrupt the slide into sleep, but he had to know – plans needed to be made.</p><p>“Dickie?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Tell me, honestly, have you pulled that stunt on Tim yet?”</p><p>Dick chuckled sleepily, “No, just you.” Jason could feel his smile against his skin. “And Slade.”</p><p>“<em>Slade</em>?” Jason groaned, “how’d that go down?” Did he get goulash and cuddles too? Probably not. “No, no, tell me in the morning. And then we can discuss what we want hustle Tim for.”</p><p>“Not dinner,” Dick muttered, “Tim’s cooking is atrocious. Although he can bake like a magician. Baking is science.”</p><p>Jason snorted, “I was thinking something more like making him clean the house, or do something embarrassing. But cakes could sway me.”</p><p>“What's this ‘we’ stuff, anyway?” Dick mumbled into the skin of his shoulder. “Presumptuous.”</p><p>Jason grinned into the darkness, it felt good. “We’re a team now, Dickie, whether you like it or not.”</p><p> </p><p>He did wonder, as he fell asleep, just <em>how</em> long Dick had been playing him, but after some vague contemplation, he decided he didn’t really care.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote fluff! I'm still shocked. It was fun though :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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